


I'm Here

by gluedwithgold



Series: But They're Brothers! [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Ficlet, M/M, Pre-Series, Schmoop, Sleep, Stanford Era, Wincest - Freeform, dream - Freeform, human touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 00:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5647786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gluedwithgold/pseuds/gluedwithgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is lonely and missing Sam.</p><p>Inspired by Dancing_Adrift, non_tiembo_mala, and the music of Red. </p><p>Un-beta'd - all mistakes are mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Here

Dean turns the key in the lock and steps into the motel room. Doesn’t bother turning on the light, they all look the same anyway. It’s been a year since Sammy left, ran away to Stanford chasing his dream of normal. Six months since Dad tossed him the keys to the Impala, telling him he’s on his own now, no need to say the words. He drops the duffel on the floor at the foot of the bed, sheds his dusty jacket and heads for the bathroom. 

Standing under the hot spray he watches the water slowly fade from red to pink to clear again, feels his muscles loosen bit by bit, checks the gash on his left side. Should probably put a few stitches in that, but fuck it, it’ll heal. He turns the water off once it starts to turn cold, towels off, drags himself, still naked, over to the bed and falls in. 

He pulls the covers up over his shoulders, grasps the spare pillow to his chest. His heart pounds in his chest, aches against his ribs. This is all there is now. Scratchy sheets against his back, a cold pillow where there once was warmth, breath, the gentle thumping of another heartbeat. He tries to remember the last time he felt another body, the last time he had human touch. The last time he felt his brother’s hand pressed gently against his chest as they drifted silently to sleep. He’s not sure he really remembers what it feels like anymore, just knows he aches for it. 

He presses his body forward to lean against the pillow, his inadequate replacement for the heat of another person. He tries to imagine it’s Sam, to let his mind fill in the blanks. His arm resting against Sam's ribs, bones under warm flesh pressing against his skin. His hand resting against the firm muscles of Sam's back, rising and falling gently as his brother breathes in and out. He can almost feel Sam’s hand against his chest, right over his heart, fist loosely clenched in sleep, knuckles lightly pressing into his skin. And he can almost feel the soft bursts of breath hitting his skin just above that hand, warm and moist and full of life, always there, all night long, reassuring - Sam is alive, Sam is okay, Sam is here. 

The loud groaning of a truck’s engine brake steals into Dean’s fantasy, pulls him forcibly back to the present, to the dark room, to the emptiness and cold of the bed. He tosses himself over onto his back with a sigh, letting the spare pillow fall aside. His eyes trace the bands of light that creep across the ceiling from the spaces around the curtains. He considers getting up, finding a bar, a drunken, willing girl to maybe fill the ache for a few hours. Screw it. Too much energy to put on the show, fake his way into her bed. Only to be left alone again tomorrow. He closes his eyes, starts counting his breaths until he drifts off to sleep. 

He dreams of Sam. Dreams of the motel room door opening quietly, his brother’s tall, lanky body slinking silently into the room. Sam stands at the foot of the bed for a moment, watching Dean as he sleeps. Dean can hear him sigh, low and long and filled with relief. He hears his clothes rustling and hitting the floor, then feels the bed dip and the covers tug as Sam climbs in next to him. Dean lifts the blankets up while Sam shimmies and wriggles his way to his spot, pressed up against his brother, his head tucked against Dean's shoulder, one leg thrown over Dean’s knees, his arms curled between their chests. Dean’s eyes fill with tears as he feels the heat on his skin, Sam’s body warming the barely-there space between them. The tears slip out when he feels the first gentle burst of breath on his chest, all the tension and ache and need flowing out with the salty drops. He tugs the covers up over his brother’s shoulders and drops his hand to Sam’s back. He presses against the warm skin, sliding his fingers back and forth slowly, reassuring - Sam is alive, Sam is okay, Sam is here. 

Dean pinches his eyes closed tighter against the bright shaft of early morning sunlight streaming into the room. He knows he’s awake but he can still feel the warmth, the pressure, the touch of his dream of Sam so he latches on, keeps the image in his mind, all the sensations, all the relief. He refuses to move, afraid it’ll break the spell and slam him back to reality. He feels a shift beside him, hears a long breath, then a hoarse, sleepy whisper of a voice…

“Dean.” 

His eyes fly open, reality flooding over him, but Sam is still there, tucked up tight next to him. He blinks, again and again but each time he opens his eyes, his brother is still there. 

“Sammy?” 

Sam’s eyes flutter open, bright hazel under soft lashes staring right at Dean. His lips curl into a sleepy smile as his eyes drift closed again and he shifts his body a little closer. 

“Yeah, Dean.”

Dean just stares at his sleep-drunk little brother with wide eyes. He slides his arm around to Sam's back again, pulls him closer till he can feel that breath on his skin. Sam is alive, Sam is okay. Sam is here? 

“Sam, what...how?” 

Sam sighs, presses his hand against Dean’s chest, his knuckles dragging across his skin lightly. 

“Never should have left, Dean. M’sorry.” 

Dean feels Sam’s leg pulling across his own, tugging their bodies closer still. Sam sighs against him, warm breath leaving a moist circle on his chest. 

“You’re not a dream?” 

“No,” Sam replies, voice no more than a mumble. “I’m here, Dean.”


End file.
